Sonnet 215

In truth, you would beseech me endlessly,
And evermore heap guilt upon my breast.
A child of love you wished to thus conceive,
In trust; and I the one that would so bless.
No obligation, none, you staunch did swear-
No ties, no times or labors to confound;
Just you, your child, and hope to here forbear,
And I a memory lost, my life unbound.
No simple matter to unyoke a heart,
And so to leave a hackled soul to roam;
Though I, in pleasured moment play my part,
Yet there condemn my conscience to a tomb.
A life so precious must spring forth from love,
Or I the dastard left, with naught to prove.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s